No good, very bad ideas
by neewom
Summary: A series of crack! These are mostly very short, very bad stand-alone stories exploring the insane ideas encountered in serious fic. Anything goes, including various  if not all  ships and any tropes I can think of. Rated just to be safe.
1. Snarry and the Meddler

Harry slumped on the floor, attempting to hold down what little food he'd eaten before arriving at the headmaster's office. Once he was confident that he would not have an unpleasant reunion with his breakfast, he glared at the headmaster and shouted, "Snape is my _father_?"

Twinkling eyes met his, a small smile gracing Dumbledore's face. "Yes, Harry. The memories in the pensieve are quite accurate, I assure you."

"If that were the case, why didn't you tell me this earlier? You know, before I actually slept with the man?"

Dumbledore found himself at a loss for words. Idly, Harry wondered how much the Prophet would pay for a copy of the memories of this day; surely, nobody yet had had the ability to stun Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot into silence before. Not without a charm, anyway. He was fairly certain that this was yet another attempt to help Harry and Severus "understand one another more," because he was well overdue his annual meddling by one very old Headmaster, but he had to be careful about his replies. The headmaster in question was speaking.

"Harry, surely you're..."

"No. Don't you dare. I've only just found him! He's happy, do you know that? The man that never smiles - the Great Bat of the Dungeons - has been teaching his classes with a permanent smirk on his face for weeks, he actually converses with his fellow professors during meals - he even broke into spontaneous song upon waking up to the first warm day of spring!"

Dumbledore managed to recover slightly. "Yes, Harry, I had noticed. Frankly, Poppy has been pressuring me to send for a mediwizard specializing in brain trauma from St. Mungo's. We'd never imagined..." He paused, lost in thought. After a tense moment, he summoned his patronus and uttered a few words to it before sending it off on its errand.

"Harry..."

"I wish you'd stop saying my name with such pity. Where did you get those memories, anyway? I know Severus didn't supply them, they certainly aren't yours because I can't honestly see you in the room while my mother and ..." here, he faltered but rallied on, "... and ... and Severus doing _that_, and the birth... Honestly. Who _ever_ wants to see every graphic detail of their own birth? How _could_ you think that showing me those memories is in any way a good idea, Headmaster? How do they prove Severus is my father, anyway? I may be willing to admit that I'm some Freudian replacement for my own mother in Severus's eyes, but that certainly doesn't prove paternity."

Dumbledore sat back, contemplating how to salvage the situation he now found himself in. He reflected that he should have come up with a better plan. Perhaps he was slipping in his old age; he never considered that the way to resolve the ongoing feud between Savior and Spy could be sexual in nature, otherwise he would have had to rethink his plans to convince both that Severus was Harry's "secret father."

Before he could muster a reply, a heavy knock sounded at the door to the headmaster's office. Finding himself with more time in which to modify the plan, he called "Come in, my boy!"

The door opened to admit a strangely-content, doe-eyed Potions Master Severus Snape. "You summoned me, Albus?" He belatedly noticed his love's presence in the room and diverted his attention.

"Ah, Severus. Perhaps you can clear up a misunderstanding I seemed to have had. The ..." He was stunned into silence again as the formerly-grouchy Severus ignored him in favor of greeting Harry with as much fanfare as the man possessed. Once the theatrics died down, the headmaster continued, "As, ah, I was saying ... the pensieve contains memories that I would like you to view and then comment on, Severus. Once you've viewed them, I would like to ask you a question."

Severus Snape was becoming less and less cheerful as each successive word left his mentor's mouth. If Harry was involved, that meant that the memory was relevant to the both of them and he struggled to believe that anything good could come out of this.

A few minutes later, the Greasy Git of the Dungeons was back in full force, glaring daggers at the headmaster. "Just _what_ in the bloody _hell_ was _that_, Albus?" Small retching sounds broke the sudden silence; presumably, Harry thought, Severus was having much the same reaction that he himself had.

Dumbledore now had a plan firmly in place. "Why, it appears to be an attempt to convince all of us that you are, in fact, Harry's father. I wonder for what purpose? I presume Voldemort is behind this somehow, but I must ask why and how he would do such a thing?" There. That just might salvage the situation.

Snape's eyes, meanwhile, had narrowed. He glanced at Harry, who wore a similar expression. _Good_, he thought. _We may just stand a chance at killing the powerful old man if we combine our powers_. "Albus, you know damn bloody well that I never slept with Lily. Despite my love for her," he grabbed Harry's hand and whispered to him, "not in _that_ sense, my love," "I never slept with her. I know you know this, and I know that you are aware that I am skilled in the mind arts and can tell a forged memory when I see one. I know that you, yourself, are also capable of distinguishing an altered memory from a true memory. So, I ask you to explain yourself."

_Damn_, Albus thought, _I probably should have considered that._ He fiddled with his wand and finally met Severus's eyes. "Yes, yes, Severus. You always were entirely too clever for your own ..." he drew his want and pointed it in the direction of the now-standing lovers. "Oblivi-"

"Petrificus Totalus!" two voices rang out in unison.

_There is_, Harry considered, _a definite advantage to being tutored in Occlumency and Legilimency by your lover, otherwise we would never have been able to time that so perfectly._

"Harry, we do need to decide on what to do now," Severus said softly. "We just petrified the most powerful wizard in recent history - we can't just leave him here and expect no retribution."

"Yes, that's... Well. Hmm. I see no harm in bottling those forged memories, bottling our own memories and storing them far away from the headmaster's reach. I'm sure a bit of blackmail will go quite a long way."

Severus reflected that his lover really should have been placed in Slytherin when he was sorted.


	2. Harry and the Monster Manual

"So, I start out weak, I can't even wear armor, and I can only cast three spells a day? What the hell, Hermione?"

"Harry, I _did_ say that you might actually want to be a sorcerer, didn't I? In any case, it gets better for you later on, especially if you consider specializing."

"I don't get this, Hermione. Why can't I just -"

A stack of books sailed through the air and landed heavily on Harry's lap, making speech impossible for him as shouts of "Just get on with it!" and "Re-read the books!" filled the room. Still grumbling, George, Angelina, Ron and Ginny stood up and left the room; this was obviously going to take a while, and none but Hermione wanted to go through the character sheets again. As she passed, Ginny gave him a clout alongside the ear.

Hermione sighed and braced herself for the coming conversation. She spoke slowly and clearly, "Harry, we need a magic user. We have the heavies, fighters, thief and healer, and we need a magic user. We're staring out at the first level, so we're all going to be much more weak than we would like to be. I'll let you choose between a wizard and a sorcerer if you still want to play -"

Harry jumped up and began gesticulating wildly, as though the movements would instill in Hermione some sense. It was unfortunate that it came out as a whine, "I _do_ want to play! I just don't see why wizards are so limited!"

Hermione pretended that she didn't hear his outburst, "- but that's it. I expect that everyone else is tired of your obstinance, Harry, _especially_ considering that they had never been exposed to this game before and yet grasped - and embraced - it before you. Now, take a look at the manual again, decide on which first-level character you want to start out with -"

Harry began gesturing wildly again as he shouted, "Oh! Maybe I can be a paladin!"

Hermione slumped and covered her eyes with one hand. "Harry," she said with a resigned sigh, "No. You cannot be a paladin. First of all, you said that you were tired of manipulative, oppressive regimes and didn't want to 'bend to anyone's law,' and second, we need a magic user."

"Maybe I can be a _magic paladin_!"

"No, Harry. No." Hermione removed her hand from her face and looked at his now-downcast face. "Harry, the puppy-dog eyes don't work on me, remember?" She sighed again and stood. "Look, I'm going to go join them," she gestured vaguely at the kitchen, where whispers and the occasional exasperated "bloody bastard does this every bloody game we play!" could be heard, "and grab a beer. Make a decision in twenty minutes or I'll come back in here and unholster my wand _and you won't like me when I unholster my wand_. Right. I'm off."

She walked into the kitchen, stubbornly ignoring Harry's muttered comments on "Lawful Evil? How does _that_ work, exactly? I killed Voldemort ... well, he killed himself, really, but ... I couldn't see him obeying laws. Giving them, sure, but ... Oh, wait. Death Eaters were Lawful Evil. Okay. So... hey, I like the sound of Chaotic."

When Hermione entered the kitchen, she met the silent gazes of her exasperated friends. A beer was passed into her hands, a hand patted her back gently, a brimming shot of whiskey was thrust into her unoccupied hand. She took in their concerned, glassy-eyed faces and steeled her resolve; _this must end_, she thought. Her less-than-sober friends noticed the change in her and grinned as one as she downed her shot of whiskey. She unholstered her wand, gestured to her friends and turned toward the door to the other room. This would be _much_ more fun than the adventure she'd planned. _That_, after all, could wait.


	3. Doing the Math

**AN: **I should have made it clear that the characters in the last chapter were attempting to play Dungeons and Dragons. In this, our heroes are attempting to figure out just how many students attend Hogwarts and have trouble resolving logic with math.

* * *

><p>A sudden, apprehensive voice broke the silence of the Room of Requirement, which was currently furnished with a large fireplace and numerous pillows. "Where do you think the eight hundred other students are?"<p>

The non-sequitur puzzled Harry, who had been lightly dozing until Hermione's outburst. "Pardon?"

"Well, there are supposed to be about a thousand students attending Hogwarts at any given time. Count the number of plates at each house's table and it just doesn't add up! Going on experience and simple math, there should only be three hundred students at Hogwarts _total_!"

"Now that you mention it..."

"Do you think that there's a second, er, caste of students? A third? A fourth? Students and professors that we just don't see? If that's the case, then how are the castes determined? I mean, if we're sorting into castes, the criteria can't be blood status otherwise you and I wouldn't be in the same caste because I'm a muggleborn and you aren't. It can't be economic status for the same reasons. Hair color? Magical power? Alphabetic names? None of those work."

"You're giving me a headache, Hermione."

She continued without pause, "Maybe there are non-human students with different professors and we only interact with our own race?"

"Hermione, that doesn't work, otherwise Hagrid wouldn't have been Tom Riddle's classmate. Wouldn't Hagrid, Firenze and Flitwick be teaching those students instead of ours?"

"Maybe the rules were changed after Hagrid was expelled, and who would Hagrid, Firenze and Flitwick teach? There aren't any other half-giants, centaurs or half-goblins around, are there?"

"You wouldn't happen to have a headache-calmer, would you?"

"No, Harry. I must remember to ask Professor McGonagall about this."

"Why does it matter, Hermione?"

"There could be up to _fifteen other houses_, Harry! Don't you think that matters? We could have sheer numbers on our side when we finally fight Voldemort!"

Harry thought about this. "Maybe Hogwarts is just padding its rosters."

"Why?"

"Funding, of course."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "But that would be fraud!"

"So? Our classes are pretty small, Hermione. If there are that many unseen students also attending Hogwarts, that means there are also more professors, more elves, more dorms, more heads of house..."

"Oh, my."

"Exactly. Can we just ignore it for now?"

"No, Harry. I need to get to the bottom of this."

"Do you even remember the Philosopher's Stone? Every time we do any digging on some mystery, Hermione, we end up confronting Voldemort and nearly dying. Can we just avoid that this time, please?"

"Fine. I'll take this to McGonagall myself."

Harry ignored her and went back to sleep.


End file.
